Grampy Lash

While installing a new ceiling fan yesterday, I found the need for a specifically sized screw and thread type. No problem, I thought. I’ll just go to the basement and dig through the jar labeled “Machine Screws”. I lumbered down two flights of stairs, found the jar and opened the lid.

Several months ago Claudia and I assumed ownership of the Ryden house where she and her brothers grew up on Fisher Avenue. Since then, we have been working like a pair of robins building their nest for their first spring brood. It started with sorting through things left behind; disposing of some and keeping others as deemed appropriate. Then there came the washing and cleaning, the preparation for painting of each room, stripping off old wallpaper, pulling up carpet. Then painting, painting, and more painting. Several times during our refurbishment activities, like the nest-building robin that searches for that perfect piece of straw or grass, I have made the trip to the basement in search of a needed bolt, nut or screw.

Ed Ryden was a meticulous organizer. It was one of his many endearing traits that is often reflected upon by most people who knew him – especially his family. For example:  Ed maintained ledgers of all his expenses  dating back to the 1950’s. Boxes in the attic were labeled with their contents, an index for each box was listed on the back of the attic doors (there are four attic storage spaces in this house). Sections of quarter-round wood trim that had been saved when Ed and Vera had the hardwood floors carpeted decades ago were neatly stored in the basement; each piece was labeled with its original location on each wall. On each wall outlet cover were tiny labels with its corresponding circuit breaker switch number.

 And then there were the nuts, bolts and screws. In the basement are many jars containing screws. Machine screws, wood screws. Flat head, round head, pan head screws. Eye screws, drywall screws. Slotted, Phillips, torx screws. There are also jars containing nuts, bolts, nails, springs, hinges, wall mollies. And of course, miscellaneous. Each jar has been appropriately labeled.

I have made several trips to the shelf where the “screw jars” are stored. Some of those trips were following Ed down the steps when he was still here, and although he has been gone for a while I felt as if I was following him now.  Finding the right jar, dumping the contents on the work bench, sorting through the screws while searching for the right one; and having found the needed screw, gathering  its kin from the bench surface and returning them to the jar.

It didn’t take long to find the needed screw. While tightening the lid back on the jar, I decided that I could at least try to continue this legacy of bolts, nuts and screws. Need one, take it out. Find one, put it in – the proper jar.

As I lumbered back up those two flights of stairs, it occurred to me:  I don’t believe that anyone could ever fill another’s shoes, but I do think that another’s footsteps can be followed. During these past few months  I have felt as if I have been following Ed’s footsteps around this house from time to time; whether it be mowing the lawn, setting out the trash for weekly pickup, bagging yard waste, or sifting through the “screw jars”.  And my shoes have felt pretty comfortable when that happens.

Remembering Ed Ryden: 7/29/1922 – 5/25/2006                                                 5/25/2013